Sing (2016)

Given its fairly fresh presence in Hollywood, it's hard to put a label on Illumination Entertainment as an animation picture studio. I mean, the Despicable Me franchise propelled them swiftly and they seem to have the ambitions to make distinct fare. I can see what they are trying to do, but who are they trying to be? Their movies have a farcical, smart-alecky, rapid-fire energy akin to Dreamworks, yet possess a genuine warmth and delicacy, more akin to Disney. It's hard to decipher whether they are trying to bridge the divide or inhabit two sensibilities simultaneously. 

This lack of a concrete, penetrable identity, from my perspective, has thus far been both limiting and liberating. They haven't that knockout film yet, but I believe they will. I don't know where they are going, but they are certainly on the right track. The Lorax, while bearing some substantial narrative flaws, came the closest to representing Seuss' style, visually. The Secret Life of Pets, while met with eye-rolling criticism, was such a lively concoction of humor, animation, characters, and voice acting that The Angry Birds Movie is still seething with envy. And their most recent film with the most humble, understated premise they have conceived is their best non-Despicable Me effort to date: Sing.

The film begins by introducing us to Buster Moon, a koala whose love of the theater eventually led him to open his own theater. However, he has produced nothing but flops and has found himself in considerable financial ruin. With the theater on the verge of shutting down, he has one more idea to save it: to host a singing competition with a grand prize, which later becomes $100,000. The contenders are Rosita, a pig who carries the hefty responsibility of caring for her negligent husband and their twenty-five piglets, Mike, an arrogant, self-absorbed, street-performing mouse, Gunter, a flamboyant, dancing pig, who becomes paired up with Rosita, Johnny, a gorilla who is involved with mobsters, Ash, a porcupine who struggles to escape her boyfriend's shadow and upkeep her own artistry, and Meena, an elephant with oft-debilitating stage fright. As the contestants battle their own struggles, Buster struggles to come through with the prize money, as everyone works to put together a dazzling show.

If there is one pervading vice I find in Illumination Entertainment, particularly their two recent films, it's their timidness and lack of zest in their beginnings. The first fifteen minutes of this film is slow, somewhat off-putting, not very funny, and it basically lays out the arcs of all of the characters, making it fiercely predictable. It doesn't spoil anything, but if you have any predictions of these characters within the first fifteen minutes, *spoiler,* you're probably correct.

Conversely, however, one of the their greatest strengths is crafting characters that are simple yet convivial. The character of Ms. Crawly, Buster's iguana assistant, is actually rather pointless and trite (sorry, director/writer Garth Jennings, who voiced Ms. Crawly). Most of her jokes are moribund, one-note, and go nowhere. However, Mike the mouse, voiced by Seth McFarlane, is the funniest of the contestants. He's so self-centered that he begins living the high-life before he even has the money to support it. Rosita, voiced by Reese Witherspoon, is such a lovable, gentle sweetheart of a character, but is more vivacious than the typical excessively loving, doting or overworked mother archetype.

Jennings is also shrewd enough to seamlessly, surreptitiously use some characters to make realistic points about artistry and performance. Rosita can sing, but has very little stage presence and is paired up with Gunther, voiced by Nick Kroll. Johnny, voiced by Taron Egerton, can sing, but he is also told to play piano for the show. These are indications that, yes, sometimes more is expected of you than your accustomed talent, which is a rather atypical message in a children's film. However, Ash, voiced by Scarlett Johannson, wants to perform original music and she crafts an original song that she is allowed to perform, which also sends the message that sometimes your mere abilities are enough. That dichotomy is existent in the entertainment business, but it is so rarely seen or have been expressed in movies and it's one that is very important to bring to the forefront and be made aware of.

Jennings has not only given us nicely presented characters, but paired them with voice actors that bolster their likability. Witherspoon, Johannson, Egerton, and Kroll do immense justice to their characters. Tori Kelly clearly has more comfort as a forceful, boisterous singer than acting as shy and modest, but for the role, she plays it convincingly. Matthew McConaughey has the naive optimism, the gentle charisma, and the blissful spirit that enlivens Buster Moon. I suppose it's fitting that McConaughey's most intriguing, bustling, and productive period involves two animated movies in 2016; a field previously unventured by him that he knocks out of the park both times.

One aspect that is absolute with Illumination Entertainment is their animation. While Secret Life of Pets cloaked itself in gorgeous, autumnal hues evocative of New York, Sing's climate in a city unique unto itself and it's simple, yet even more fetching. The animation is magnificent, displaying poppy, luminous, vibrant colors. A sequence involving the flooding of the theater is as enthralling, enrapturing, thrilling, and intricate as a marvelous action sequence. As expected for a film called Sing, the film features a wide array of musical numbers. What's rather surprising is how all-encompassing the music is. It doesn't tread the avant-garde waters, but it also utilizes more musical selections than the simple Top 40 playlist often present in kids' films. The music is used straightforwardly and humorously, as showcased specifically in the climactic competition that is all parts bizarre, riotous, lively, and warranting a shimmy in your seat.

Initially, I wasn't sure that this movie was going to resonate securely. I knew it would succeed financially, but I figured it would be just...cute. During its start, I thought that it would have been more interesting if the script had more of a bite or a satirical slant. However, this film is not just cute. It's entertaining, moreso than expected. It's not a grand slam, but in these progressive, boundary-pushing times of animation, sometimes just a simple, effective bit of entertainment is all you need. Sing, the last animated film released in 2016, is guaranteed to leave a smile.

RATING: An enthusiastic three stars out of four

La La Land (2016)

It is quite a feat when a musical film becomes universal. Seeing how the mere conceit and style of musicals are so polarizing, capturing the complete, consensual consciousness is practically an anomaly. A select few that come to my head are Singin' In the Rain, Wizard of Oz, Chicago, Grease, and a plethora of Disney movies. I assume that our current generation's obsession with delving into retro sounds and renewing archaic trends coupled with our desperate need for some positivity after a drudging burden of year we had to suffer through (Oh God, inauguration day's approaching us) has equated the enormous affection for Damien Chazelle's newest cinematic incorporation of music. If Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench was his debut film and Whiplash was his full-on breakthrough into the public zeitgeist, then La La Land is the missing, albeit fully, unequivocally realized, piece for his cinematic trifecta.

The intro, while providing us with only a glimpse of what to expect thematically, sets the tone impeccably. An upbeat opening number uses music to offset the jarring, galvanic sounds of road rage to give us a peek of what certain strangers' "la la lands" seem to encompass. When it seems to come across as simplistic, we are then introduced to Mia. She's an aspiring, but down-on-her-luck actress, who works as a barista to make ends' meet. After a disastrous night, she meets (or, should I say, reunites with) a jazz pianist, Sebastian. He's obsessed with jazz and plans to open a jazz club named in honor of his idol, Charlie Parker, but he's failing to make ends' meet and an incident at a restaurant has just cost him his job. While, at first, they do not respond to each other kindly, they soon begin a winning romance, as they both become invested in each others' aspirations.

I must concede that this film, initially, caught me off-guard. At the start, I minorly struggled to discover Chazelle's intention. I mean, it seemed very straightforward, but I felt that I was missing something. It's set in modern day, so it clearly wasn't trying to be set in the 40s, but moreso trying to be an homage. However, the pieces still came across as heterogeneous. Part of it may have been that, at first, the story didn't compel me enough. Adequately, mind you, but not excessively. It seemed adorably, infectiously genial, but that was about it.

However, after the first third, I cracked the code promptly. This movie actually isn't a straightforward musical. It definitely has musical elements and I am not denying that it's a musical film. I'm saying that there is a bit more under the surface. It is more an embrace of nostalgia, not just conceptually, but thematically. Mia states that her love of acting stemmed from memories of watching vintage movies with her mother, specifically Casablanca, Notorious, and Bringing Up Baby. She seems to be more concentrated on the current times, which is where some of the anguish in her character can blossom from. She's so fixated on her current situation that, occasionally, she seems to let the innocence and purity of those memories evade her.

That can be said with Sebastian. He is impassioned about reviving jazz. He is clearly distraught and shaken about the overall disintegration of jazz and he hopes that his club can renew an interest in jazz. At the forefront, all the odds are against him, but his focus, determination, and his mere fascination of jazz cause him to turn a blind eye to those obstacles and he keeps pursuing his ultimate goal. Nostalgia is their "la la land," if you will. It's not a warning about being too heavily blindsided by it. It's not even a comment on the tragedy of possessing exorbitant amounts of nostalgic feelings. It's an encouragement to stay attuned to your nostalgic tendencies. All of it comes full circle during the final ten minutes, stating that even the most minute amounts of nostalgia can elevate and transcend wistful thoughts and cursed memories into those of effusive, unparalled joy. It's an audacious yet straightforward set of convictions Chazelle provides us.

Chazelle has the job title of filmmaker, the sensibilities of a musician, and the acumen and savvy forte to amalgamate the two fields. The musical numbers here are extraordinary. The songs themselves, while cute and upbeat, are best experienced with these visuals. Chazelle's knack for mise-en-scene is absolutely astonishing. The colors, the cinematography, the locations, the lighting; all of it seems like an ordinate painting coming to life. Chazelle recruited his Harvard classmate, Justin Hurwitz, to orchestrate the film and Mandy Moore (not the singer) to choreograph it and, by god, does he also have a knack for selection a top-tier crew. Hurwitz's orchestrations are marvelous, completely immersing himself into the spirit and context of this film, while Moore delivers some of the most taut, controlled, and lushest choreography I have seen on film in years. The Planetarium number is, quite fittingly, beautiful in an interplanetary way and the final music number, while not possessing the aggression and fury of the final drum solo from Whiplash, still stands alone as an exquisite, lovely, expressive, and dazzling musical piece. Additionally, the fact that he made Ryan Gosling look like a professional piano player is an achievement unto itself, although...he still could have used some Auto-Tune.

 Speaking of which, the performances are magnificent. Sure, John Legend is basically disposable, acting in the same vein of Aloe Blacc from Get On Up (seriously, y'all, don't quit your day jobs), but Ryan Gosling is absolutely winning, completely diving into Sebastian's obsessive, vigorous, passionate demeanor, sharply acting as the perfect male foil that was common in rom-coms of the 40s. However, the star of the film truly is Emma Stone as Mia. Stone has had many forays with characters that are both forthright yet fragile. This performance may just be at the zenith of that, possessing a biting wit, an inner facade willing to be exposed naked and raw, a warm smile, a delicate singing voice, and, above all, a fixated, intent-laden, transfixing, nuanced stare. Each and every time she delivers her protracted stare, it's utterly haunting and hypnotic. Chazelle's a master of dynamism and vibrancy, as opposed to nuance, but Stone gives him some credibility in that department.

Leave it to Damien Chazelle for making this film his blockbuster: a musical film that operates viscerally and cerebrally. It may not be a four-star classic, in my opinion, and I doubt it's going to spark a stark revival of movie musicals, but it's refreshing that one of the last films of 2016 can act not only as a therapeutic outlet for those who suffered through 2016, but also as a film that can enliven the spirits in any year. Given who we have to laboriously witness lead our country for the next four years...I can safely say that a "la la land" is exactly what we all need right now. A four-year vacation sounds just fine to me.

RATING: Three-and-a-half stars out of four

Moana (2016)

It's almost customary, tedious, and droning at this point to rave about Disney's unerring coupling of their short and feature films, as it is basically a given. However, I first and foremost must uphold my personal integrity and morale of insisting to give credit where credit is due. That said, Inner Workings, the short film in question, is Disney's straightforward answer to Inside Out. It manages to be as hilarious and insightful as that movie. It constructs a new path while treading in the same territory, much like the film that follows: Moana.

The film takes place on the Polynesian island, Motonui. The Polynesian islands came to be after the goddess, Te Fiti, emerged, using her heart, presented in the form of a stone, to create life. However, demigod Maui stole the heart, which provoked a confrontation with lava demon, Te Ka, and thus the heart became lost...until Moana, the daughter of the island's head chief, becomes the chosen one to receive the heart, return it, restore security to the island. She meets up with demigod Maui to assist her in her journey.

Something that impressed me tremendously while watching the film was its rhythm. While many Disney films glide through their stories more briskly, Moana takes more of a relaxed approach. It's leisurely, controlled, and contained, opting to add additional flesh to the story, while never coming across as ponderous. It's fastidious tonally, yet rich, effusive, and vigorous in execution. While the first third of the film has a healthy dose of build-up and development, it also unfortunately highlights certain derivative elements of the story. Not only could you play a drinking game out of how many instances Moana's father says, "We do not go beyond the reef," but you could play a drinking game of how many other movies have used this trope, specifically how many times EACH movie uses a similar line of dialogue.

However, the film gains full force when Maui and Moana meet. Not only are Moana and Maui two of the most addictive, lovable characters in the Disney canon, but their alchemy and wily call-and-response interactions birth one of the greatest duos in cartoon history.  Most duos built on banter and dichotomy are cut-and-dry, stark, and centered on two extremes. There are certainly remnants of this here, but the approach in Moana is unique and novel. Maui, on the surface, is a typical self-absorbed, virile, chauvinist caricature, but he is considerably more fragile, prone to leave his tics and vices exposed for Moana to take advantage of. Moana is, as expected, the inexperienced yet determined young girl, ready to take charge. Even though Maui is stronger, Moana does not allow him to degrade her easily. Usually, her archetype has to labor for a give-and-take against a character like Maui. However, she is not presented as simply valiant, but moreso headstrong and quick-witted. Instead of straining to get her way, she possesses a wit that targets Maui's internal weaknesses and naked impulses. 

This dynamic, along with their refreshing characterizations, leads to some of the most riotous, effervescent, and hilarious comedy Disney has ever produced. It also helps that they are voiced brilliantly by Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson and Auli'i Cravalho. Johnson continues his hot streak of characters seemingly meant to counter, subvert, and innocuously decry his notorious tough-guy image. Additionally, he gets to demonstrate some surprisingly above-adequate singing abilities. Cravalho as Moana exhibits massive quantities of personality, exultation, attitude, and warm innocence, which, while it makes for a stupendous performance, could either make or break her, given the magnitude of her role juxtaposed with her age.

Above all else, I sat there, absolutely transfixed with the animation. if judging Disney films solely on their animation quality, this ranks in the top two of all time. What a luscious, intoxicating, sublime film this is to merely experience. When we aren't being introduced to the poppy, vibrant creatures, we are immersed in a world treated with more gravity and poetry than I have viewed in a while, displayed in. glorious 3-D. While the majority number of character designs are all normally amiable, Moana is the definitive standout, designed beautifully with her inviting smile, radiant skin, and immaculate doe eyes. This film also provides us with the most expressive tattoos and water I have ever witnessed in an animated film; an accolade I never thought I would ultilize.

As much as I adore this film, it is one of my most flawed favorite films ever. As I stated earlier, there are many cliched moments, so not every emotional moment resonates to their fullest extent. Also...*sigh*...the music. Now, let me clarify. I like every song in the film. Musically, they complement the atmosphere and climate perfectly and the imagery that accompanies the songs is grand and sumptuous. But lyrically...look, Mr. Miranda, I know this is your first Disney effort and you collaborated with two other gentlemen (Mark Mancina and Opetaia Foa'i). You did a good job, but you still have a long way to go.

Regardless, this is one of the most magnificent, wondrous, beautiful, and funniest animated films I have ever seen with one of the strongest protagonists in Disney history; a character that little girls not merely can look up to, but should look up to. It's odd in the way Disney has been a beacon of hope, a savior in an awful, awful year. This film and Zootopia almost act as the bookends for 2016. Zootopia showed the ills of discrimination and xenophobia, which we will now have to confront for four years. Moana holds up a mirror and reflects the image of a proud, competent woman taking charge and gaining the proper approval of her peers, which now plays as both an unfortunate fantasy and a symbol of determination. Finding Dory, in the middle of the year, showed us how to maintain optimism and cheer when confronted with turbulence and seemingly impossible hardships. How morbidly prescient yet totally gracious. Through all this upheaval, Disney was with us. Hell, that whistling mouse would make a better leader than Chump.

RATING: Four out of four stars! 

Kevin Hart: What Now? (2016)

In observing the intro to Kevin Hart's newest stand-up comedy film, What Now?, I realized how much it is an indication of the progression of his notoriety and demand. I was brought back nostalgically to his first major stand-up special, I'm a Grown Little Man, which opens on a blackened, featureless animated body with a flimsy, copy-and-paste image of Kevin Hart's smiley face, growing through farcical mayhem for...mmmm....25 seconds maximum. 

The intro to this film also involves comically roughshod special effects and displays Kevin Hart in a car, a la James Bond, speeding through with ironic purpose and tongue-in-cheek dignity, supported by a warm palette of black and yellow (shut up, Wiz Khalifa). This espionage milieu continues for ten minutes prior to the actual special. This act, complete with Ed Helms, Don Cheadle, and Halle Berry, is, to my surprise, rollickingly hilarious; a boisterous, impeccably delivered, and proficiently timed. Even more surprising, it actually upstages the actual special. It doesn't demean or demolish it, but the stand-up surprisingly pales in comparison. I guess that's the tragic implication of sharing your title with a leaden, failed Rihanna single.

This special is shot at Lincoln Financial Field in front of a sold-out crowd, as Hart goes into experiences with his fiancee, his children, his father, Starbuck's, women who don't believe shit, etc. Here's the thing. In watching this film, I found myself laughing/smirking about 65% of the special (laughing out loud probably 32%) and the remainder of my experience was just me staring with a doe-eyed, "Please, sir, may I have some more?" aura spritzing from my consciousness.

Kevin Hart's comedic appeal from the start centered around his minimal material and his monstrous personality. He has a very finite comedic spectrum, running the gamut from "women are..." to "All right, all right, all RIIIIIGHT," interspersed with Silly Putty expressions and guttural screeches and yells. He's practically the black equivalent to Jim Carrey. And at the beginning of his career, it was more infectious that the swine flu. Unfortunately, as I punctuated in my Central Intelligence review, Kevin Hart, since Let Me Explain, is in a completely different phase of existence now. 

His formula and format has proven to be tried and true and, after scoring approximately three films a year, he seems to be inadvertently resting on his laurels, not out of sheer indolence or complacency, but because he genuinely is enjoying himself and is in a secure comfort zone where he doesn't have to go beyond his limits. While life oozes out of him in his demeanor, he's starting to forgo tangible jokes and situations, in exchange for merely adequate remnants of levity. I'd say it's comparable to a candy bar: satisfying, but not substantial. I'm not sure when, even if, he will suffer from a massive backlash, but what I do know is that his almost pathetic confidence in his repetitiveness and his painful awareness of his perennial label in the comedic world is beginning to turn his material thin. Very thin.

However, while he's technically approaching a wall head-on and with full force, he still has his full-blooded charisma that is still intriguing and transfixing enough that it feels rewarding at the close of each bit. He has that spark in his eye, that unremitting gaiety, that effervescent earnestness that clinches the deal, regardless whether or not the product is top-notch. Even when I was desperate for Hart to get to the punchline, I was still enjoying him and myself. His unalloyed sincerity comes through totally and definitively in a closing statement, as he departs the stage.

I must admit there were some marginal red flags when I heard he was releasing a comedy special in theaters after his last one showcased his selling-out at Madison Square Garden. I wondered how he was going to top that. To put it frankly, he doesn't. While it ranks as the weakest of his specials, his sparse sensibilities still produce escapism that proves to be simple, yet detectable. It's not suffocatingly funny, but...funny enough. Not a very buoyant, impassioned endorsement, but one, nonetheless.

RATING: Three out of four stars

Don't Breathe (2016)

I am cognizant that the following statement I'm prepare to utter can be swiftly applied to any film genre, but it seems that the horror genre is, fittingly, "doomed" to easily contract periods of iteration and stagnation, at least in the Hollywood mainstream scene. This sounds odd, seeing how complex and varied the emotion of fear is. Fear can exist on a psychological, metaphysical, or existential level. It can be irrational or can simmer in our most repressed, vulnerable tendencies or states of being. It can be expressed through phantasmic beings that exploit our most personally unfathomable predicaments or represent the worst in us. Despite all this, it seems as if the predominate stages of the Hollywood horror genre run the gamut from mystical monsters that are now ubiquitous and kitschy (to the extent that they are submitted to self-parody), to torture porn or slasher films meant to elicit a tawdry shock or scream, and to supernatural horror, which currently can be summarized as "uncertain" certainties terrorizing or possessing members of white suburbia, all the while never missing a cue for a jump scare.

Currently, while horror will never be "dead" (accidental, I swear), it seems that we are in the most self-content, creatively sterile period of horror overall, despite sparks of sporadic brilliance. It seems fitting that Paranormal Activity drew mass hysteria right before the conclusion of the Saw franchise. While the found-footage angle led to greater possibilities with films such as, The Visit or Unfriended, the supernatural portion proved tried, true, and infuriatingly warmed over. So, does Don't Breathe represent a shift in a different route for Hollywood? Until they decide to stop milking The Conjuring and Annabelle series, hell no. Is it one of the most invigorating, creatively enlightened, and effective modern horror films? Hell yes.

The film centers around three teenagers in Detroit, Rocky, Alex, and Money. Their primary expertise is robbing the houses protected under Alex's father's security system and selling the valuable items they obtained, in the hopes of escaping the impoverished confines of Detroit and escaping to California. Their newest heist targets the house of a Army veteran, who has obtained a $300K settlement after a family tragedy. The gentleman named Norman is blind, which unfazes them, until Money gets shot and killed by Norman during the heist. It soon turns into a cat-and-mouse game, as Rocky and Alex struggle to maintain their secrecy and dodge the sonically aware, emotionally charged hands of Norman, the blind man.

This film is the definition of a white-knuckle express. The taut, claustrophobic, fear-laden atmosphere of the house give it an insidious identity, yet the complexities of it give it a sort of personality. It seems at every turn, there's a new level that has been unexplored, which would be the more ideal scenario for our protagonists. The lighting is perfectly sparse, resulting in a night vision chase scene, which is one of the most exhilarating, ingenious moments I've witnessed in a horror film.

The nature of the film is minimalist, relying on suspense and dread through the use of sound, in the same vein as films such as, The Blair Witch Project, and Signs. Creaking floors, buzzing phones, crackling windows, breathing, etc. create a foreboding aura not in straightforward fear per se, but of frightening implications. Any sound could be the last. One brilliant move by director Fede Alvarez is his coordination of sounds with Roque Banos' score. Certain sounds increase in volume, along with the score. It's nuances like these that create a elevated level of psychological tension, as opposed to physical, visual fears. If it wasn't for the content of this film, I believe wholeheartedly that this film would be a shoe-in for an Oscar nomination for sound editing.

In a perfect world, Stephen Lang would also be nominated for an Oscar for his portrayal as Norman, the blind man. Only an actor of veteran status, as opposed to celebrity status, could deliver such an emotionally variegated, subtly astute, and maturely menacing performance in a horror film. It may not be Hannibal Lecter status, but it's a damn impressive acting job, minus a few admittedly overwrought moments. However, Dylan Minnette and Daniel Zovatto deliver sincere work as Alex and Money, respectively, and Jane Levy, as Rocky, could easily be a bankable scream queen, if she stays on the right track. It helps that all the actors have been given characters substantially developed, which, for a horror film, is practically an anomaly. It's not innovative work, but screenwriters Rodo Sayagues and (*gasp*) Fede Alvarez deliver a perfect balance of empathy and reality. In both cases, they are identifiable, in spite of their transgressions.

However, with all of the brilliance in this film, I struggle with the ending. I personally would've preferred the removal of the last three minutes, offering a moral elusiveness and complexity that would've been a sly, more cunning way to complement the grimy, dour tone of everything preceding it. Instead, we get a coda that is too satisfactory, too upbeat, and too inconsequential. Every defense I have mustered in my mind for the ending is either excessively lenient, morally incongruous or muddled, conceptually cliched, or, in any allegorical argument, patronizing and simplistic.

Despite this, I consider this film a fluke, in all of the best ways. Horror films have had a history of employing sociopolitical critiques or social commentaries within the ghostly and grisly, from Invasion of the Body Snatchers, to Dawn of the Dead, to even Cabin in the Woods. I feel that this film has subliminally tapped into the sociopolitical zeitgeist of now. So what's the allegory? Is it tapping into the All Lives Matter conceit, in displaying victimized white people attacking victimized white people? Is it tapping into the Black Lives Matter conceit, in the sense that impoverished individuals, using tools legal or illegal to survive, are pitted against a financially well-off white man, who is blind, literally and figuratively, to his own perspectives that the experiences and feelings of the suffering are not taken into account? The failings of our justice system? Inadequate treatment of our veterans? Reproductive rights (That last one has to be seen to understand, but...probably not)? I guess it's open to interpretation. What I am certain of is that the film is innately ironic. Think about it. A film entitled Don't Breathe is a breath of fresh air for horror films. *rimshot*

 RATING: Three-and-a-half stars out of four